Her Boy
by thymer
Summary: A companion piece to On The Walls of Helm's Deep. The worries and reflections of a mother in the Caves while her son is fighting above.


Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings is not mine. Anything you recognize is the property of J. R. R. Tolkien and/or Peter Jackson.

A/N: This is a companion piece to On The Walls of Helm's Deep, but I supposed it could be read without reading the other fic. Also, I made up the name of the boy, because I didn't really feel like naming him after one of the long-dead kings of Rohan. And I can't find my copy of the Return of the King anyway, so I can't look up Rohirric names in the appendixes.

Her Boy

She sat in the Glittering Caves, clasping her daughters to herself in fear, and listening to the steadily growing noises of the fighters above. Her husband had died in the burning of the West-fold, and now she prayed for her son, still just a boy, to live through the night. She didn't know if she would be able to go on if he died.

She glanced around at the other women, their faces taught with fear. So many of them had brothers, husbands, sons fighting above. She pressed her face into her youngest daughter's blonde hair and murmured reassurances, though she wasn't sure whether she was murmuring them for herself or for her children. "Everything will be alright, darling, you'll see. Everything will be all right. This will be over soon, and then we'll go back home. Soon we'll go back home."

Her other daughter began to cry, "Mama, I want Éodain. I want Éodain, and Papa!"

"Hush, little one. You'll see Éodain soon," she said.

"And Papa too?" her little daughter asked tearfully.

"No," she replied, trying to hide the tears that had suddenly sprung up in her eyes from her children. She had to be strong, for their sakes. But she missed him so much. His strong arms, and ready smile. The way his eyes twinkled when she was annoyed at him. All that was gone. She would never see him again, so she had to look to the present, had to take care of their children. But how could she take care of her son when he was out on the battlements, fighting the hideous army of orcs? He was too young to fight. He should be here with her, and his sisters. But there was no changing the fact that he wasn't, so she pleaded desperately with whatever force might be out there. _Please let Éodain be safe. Let him return to me, and his sisters._

She rocked her crying daughter to sleep, and waited for the long dark night to end.

The din of the battle above grew persistently louder, and finally the sound of a battering ram on the doors of the inner keep could be heard. "They're breaking in!" someone wailed. Everyone gazed up in fear, their minds imagining all the horrible things that could have happened, and all that was yet to come. She clutched her daughters to herself even more tightly.

The wait seemed to take an eternity, each breath seemed like it had been held for hours, every sound in the cavern echoed, multiplied, became fear made tangible.

At last, the calls of Rohirric warriors were heard, the entrance to the cavern was opened, and the light of day shone in, blinding the shadows in the corners, and chasing them away.

"We'll need bandages, and food, and a place for the men to rest," the lady Éowyn commanded, "We must tend to the wounded, and-" Éowyn's voice faltered for a moment, but she drew a deep breath and completed her sentence, "and the dead."

The women divided into groups, each group in charge of a different task - one group to find food and bedding, one group to look after the children too young to help, and one group to tend the wounded.

"Mama, can we go see Éodain now?" her eldest daughter asked, tugging on her mother's skirt..

"Not yet," she responded, "You have to be brave now, and help look after your younger sister and the other children." Her daughter nodded solemnly.

"I will mama, don't worry." She smiled tenderly at her little girl, and exited the Caves.

She and some other women filled buckets of water to carry to the hall that would serve as an infirmary for a time. As they walked along the wall they saw the corpses of the brave Rohirrim strewn among the foul carcasses of the orcs. She wanted to weep at the death and desolation that she saw around her.

Suddenly, her eyes recognized a familiar form, lying under a bit of rubble. "No!" she shrieked, "Éodain! Éodain!" Dropping her bucket, she ran to his side, and gently lifted the rubble off of him. She keened with grief as she clasped his body tightly, as if the desperation of her embrace could bring him back to life.

A gentle hand fell on her shoulder, and she looked up to see another woman from her village looking at her in silent sympathy.

"He was too young to die," she sobbed. "And now I'll never see him grow up, never see him fall in love, never see him get married, have children of his own. He'll never grow tall like his father, he'll never-" she broke off as sobs wracked her form. She would never be happy again. Her son, her boy, was dead.


End file.
